


Finding Somewhere

by twitchytweek



Category: South Park
Genre: Abuse, Alcoholism, Drug Use, Hi this is going to be fluffy but also, I swear, M/M, Mental Illness, Oops, Please Forgive me, Projection: The Fic, a very tasteful fade to black, also maybe........... implied???? self harm, also suggestive language and lots of cursing because yall. theyre teens., also there wont be smut bUT, alternatively titled, bc i cant have fluff without extensive s u f f e r i n g, bc i love the it, but itll mostly be written from tweek's pov with a few others v rarely, everyone in this fic will be around 17/18, i do it out of love, id write a chapter from the pov of literally every character, if i could, ive been a teens, many many characters will be mentioned but not shown extensively bc this is a creek fic but trust me, nothing graphic shown again, so again be safe, so if that squicks yall out be safe, sweet sadistic love, teens Say Things, there are brief mentions of:, there will probs be makeouts with like, update schedule might be wild too sorry, yall ready for pain
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-14 01:10:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16483214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twitchytweek/pseuds/twitchytweek
Summary: Tweek's been gone for four years, and predictably the hectic world of South Park has moved on in his absence with little care for the shaky spaz that once held an amount of significant influence. Trees still grow, flowers still bloom, and people still breathe in without a single thought cast his way. But things have a funny habit of falling apart, sometimes in just the right way, and he comes back to places and people that have grown around his influence, that remember him without knowing him at all. People change, places change, but it's very rare to forget entirely, and he's very quickly pulled back into the habitat that he was so certain he belonged to once upon a time. Now he's stuck wondering if this is really what he wants anymore.Welcome back, Tweek. Welcome home.





	Finding Somewhere

**Author's Note:**

> WHAT UP IT'S YA BOI HERE WITH HIS FIRST EVER MULTI-CHAPTER FIC--
> 
> First of all, I just wanna give big big thanks to everyone who encouraged me through this, my lovely beta reader, the Stark's Pond server for the creek exchange that even got me writing this, and everyone who reads this/ gives kudos/ comments!!! I love you all for it so much, it f u e l s me. I hope you guys enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing this!!!

Craig's life is a life of routine and monotony. It's how he likes it; he's always preferred knowing what's coming to getting wrapped up in some wild adventure, which is maybe an unlucky trait to have in the strange twilight zone South Park seems to occupy, but he's managed to strike a balance wherein he can survive the typical instability that comes with life in this town and still keep his sanity. Most of that can be attributed to his masterful apathy regarding most things that would typically shock or horrify others. It might be assumed that an excess of extreme situations early on could have dulled his ability to care about much, but Craig doesn't bother psychoanalyzing himself. 

He rolls out of bed in a very typical teenager way, grumbling his protests at the alarm on his phone until he musters up the will to shut it off and prepare himself for the day, mourning the loss of summer and the late sleeping it granted him. At the slightest movement from him, excited wheeks erupt from the cage housing his guinea pigs, and he finds it a little more difficult to be bitter about being woken up so early. "Good morning," he greets in a sleep-slurred voice, stretching, once his feet touch to his bedroom floor. 

Within a few short minutes, he's dressed and grabbing a poptart from the cupboard, eating it without bothering to heat it up while his free hand fumbles in the drawer of the fridge for that day's serving of veggies for the rodents, along with a couple of strawberries as a preemptive apology for being gone all day. Craig knows that, logically, they won't be upset with him over it, but he still feels a little guilty to leave them in an empty house all day while he's in school surrounded by people he doesn't even like, doing work he doesn't care about. If he's lucky he might be able to get away with sleeping through some of his classes, but it doesn't serve to make him less bitter about his circumstances. He'd much rather sit on his bedroom floor and watch his guinea pigs run around while Red Racer plays in the background, and maybe it's silly, but he's certain they want the same.

It's wishful thinking and he knows so, but it lessens his annoyance with having to go to school. 

While his beloved pets munch on their treats, he tugs on worn sneakers he's owned for years, stumbling as his finger gets stuck between his heel and the frayed fabric, nearly resulting in him faceplanting onto his floor. He narrowly avoids such an embarrassment, but he had an audience of one for his little blunder and without even thinking about it he raises his hand to deliver a middle finger salute in response, scooping up his backpack once his feet are planted firmly on the ground again. 

"You nearly ate shit, Craiggory," Tricia taunts, sidestepping before Craig can retaliate.

"Fuck off," he replies intelligently with no real bite to it, his face flushed only slightly from embarrassment.

A similar middle finger is directed towards him as he walks out the door, Clyde already waiting in his car for him. 

 

He slides into the passenger seat and is immediately greeted with some variety of girly pop that prompts him to look at Clyde as if he'd just sprouted a second head. He's beaming brightly as if there's nothing wrong with the picture, which only serves to make Craig more curious as to why Clyde's choice of music for the ride to school is… Jesus, is he playing Kesha?

“What? It's good music!” Clyde defends, and Craig just clicks his tongue in disapproval. “It's good to listen to happy music before school. Puts me in a good mood, and if you want to have a good day you have to choose to!” 

“You use the word “good” too much.”

“Oh, stuff it. I don't have to give you a ride, you know!” 

“Yeah you do, you'd feel too guilty to make me walk every day.”

Clyde pouts and Craig considers the conversation finished; the bickering is all playful, he's smiling faintly and Clyde shows no sign of being genuinely bothered by it. In fact, the rest of the ride is filled in by Clyde singing obnoxiously loud along with whatever early 2010’s pop comes on next and complaining equally loudly when an ad interrupts what he seems to think is the best music to ever grace their young ears. Craig doesn't actively despise the music, but he will argue against that. Or, he would if it wouldn't throw his own music taste into question. 

Most of Craig's morning goes by in a completely boring way. It's exactly what he wanted, to be granted the ability to just coast by without having to worry about unwanted attention from teachers or classmates; there's little he values more than his ability to relax and keep away from drama involving him, so having an uneventful first day sets him up for a perfectly uneventful semester, and from there on an uneventful school year. 

Classes pass in a blur, which is to be expected when he zones out during most of them. Geometry bleeds into biology until it reaches the point that Craig can't recognize the individual teachers, but it's difficult to do so during speech class as the teacher there seems to want nothing more than to point out his nasally voice and show him how to correct it, which Craig has less than no interest in. Negative interest, even, but his witty quips back at the teacher get a few laughs that mean a little more to him than he'd ever admit to. Rather than working on any of the papers that get handed out sporadically throughout the day, Craig doodles within the margins. He's no artist, but he's nailed down drawing guinea pigs and other small rodents, so very quickly his pages are filled with minuscule drawings of the tiny creatures playing, or laying on the words printed in runny ink. He thinks the use he made of the different angles presented on the geometry papers especially get him a few points in creativity.

He enters English class and expects that it'll pass in a typical way, with either doodles or sleep, and he aims for the latter after the teacher is done giving her introduction, way too chipper for how early in the day it is. It's annoying, and makes him wonder how much caffeine she must have had to chug before arriving, a thought that reminds him of someone he hadn't thought about in years. In typical Craig fashion, he elects to ignore it until it's no longer a thing demanding his attention, settling his head on the cloth binder, bound in blue, resting on his desk. He already knows that this is going to be the extent of the use he gets out of it.

He's almost reached the perfect stasis of asleep and awake when a book comes down hard on his desk, eliciting a few snickers from the class that he notes as much less satisfying when they're at his expense rather than the teacher's. His fate is sealed by the teacher's voice demanding an explanation for him sleeping, which he answers with a middle finger, already preparing to go to the counselor before she says a word. He's had a good run. He knows when to accept his defeat.

The one saving grace of this encounter is the dead silence of the halls beyond the classroom. No one out there to question him, which is as shocking as it is satisfying, and his feet lead him towards the room with no real guidance from his brain. The office is just as familiar to him as his own bedroom for all the time he's spent there, so there was nothing all to unusual about it. He didn't expect there to be anything exceptional, just some light scolding and disappointment, possibly a call to his parents depending on how much he managed to piss Mackey off. 

But when he walks up to the office there's an all-too familiar head of blond hair facing away from him, the figure's legs swinging idly under the chair. He looks different, and while that should be obvious, the differences are surprising and Craig's not sure what to think of them. He's not sure what to think of _him,_ because he hasn't thought of him in so long.

He's different from the skin-and-bones boy Craig remembered. His hair is a little longer, too, and rather than a green button-up with gaps where his shaky fingers failed to match A to B, he has a black denim jacket with patches of plaid and other patterned fabric where Craig assumes rips were. It's still ill-fitting, Craig's never seen him in clothes that actually flattered his body, but what's more surprising is how his face has changed once he actually turns to face him.

For one, he's bleeding from his nose, his hand lifted to catch the blood before it can run down his face in little rivulets of red. Craig instinctively wants to help fix that however he can, despite not being a walking first-aid kit- though, he did carry a few supplies on him for Clyde, because the guy was so clumsy. But that aside, Tweek looks… Really pretty. He never noticed things like that when they were younger, and he didn't often describe boys as pretty, but it's fitting for the soft, almost fae-like features gracing his face, heart-shaped lips and round eyes and long lashes that are almost invisible with how light his hair is, unless you squint _just right--_

“What the hell are you staring at?” 

Craig didn't expect those to be the first words spoken between them after several years. “Sorry,” he says absentmindedly, “you look familiar.”

“One of those faces, I guess.” The lack of recognition makes Craig wonder if his mind is just playing tricks on him, but the way Tweek is peering at him almost makes it seem like he realizes who he is and just isn't commenting on it. Until he does comment on it, and Craig sits down in the seat next to him. “You look familiar, too. Do I know you?”

“It's Craig. We went to school together.” Kind of dated for a few years, but sure, no problem if Tweek didn't realize--

“Holy shit, _**Craig?!”**_ There it is. “What the fuck man, I-I haven't seen you since… God, middle school?” He seems a lot more embarrassed now, and he nearly goes to run his fingers through his hair before he remembers their bloodied state and sets them in his lap instead. “Um… How are you? It's been a long time.”

Four years, actually, not that Craig was counting. “I'm fine. Surprised to see you here. Did you just move back?” When Tweek left, he left with very little explanation and it was all rushed. Something about the cops there being after his dad and them all having to leave. 

Craig was young, he didn't care a lot about that. He just cared that Tweek, the boy who had become such an intrinsic part of his life, wasn't going to be there anymore. He felt a little guilty for not trying harder to stay in touch after that, but it hurt to talk with Tweek when he wasn't actually there. Much easier to just slowly distance himself from the conversations before he let himself get too desperate.

He nearly misses Tweek speaking up again by getting too lost in thought. “Yeah, I've been here about two weeks, I think? Jesus, if I'd have known you were still around I would have…” Called? Craig's number had changed since then. Tweek couldn't have done much, so Craig doesn't blame him for the silence. It's not like he was exceptional at communication. “It's really good to see you. Got any new boyfriends I should be jealous of?,” he joked, twisting in his seat to face Craig more. Something he wanted to warn against, considering the nosebleed, but he bit his tongue. Tweek's words caught his attention well enough that he could brush aside that little impulse.

“Nope, no boyfriend. Though Clyde is--”

“No way, you and Clyde?!”

“Let me finish. I was just saying Clyde's like an overly attached girlfriend or something, I think he'd run off any date.” Tweek's little “oh” of realization nearly makes him smile, as does the thought of Clyde clinging to him like a needy partner. He was pretty attached, but it was nice. Craig never doubted that Clyde cared about him, and his house was like a second home almost. Hell, he'd probably spent more time over there than at his own house during the summer and would throughout the school year; he was expected there when the day was over for their traditional group gossip after the first day. “What are you in for?” He asks after a pause, glancing towards Tweek's bloody hand and nose. His knuckles were red, too. The hell did he get himself into?

“Oh, you know, normal first day shit,” Tweek answers coyly. “You?”

“Passed out in class and flipped off a teacher.” He could have responded in a vague way too, but the truth fell out easier. 

“That does sound like the Craig I remember.” Which only serves to make Craig wonder how much Tweek remembered to begin with. Did he ever think of him after he left? How often? This Tweek was much different from the anxious wreck he knew, and he needed to know more. He kind of looked bad ass, actually, much more fitting for the delinquent label than Craig was with his neat clothes and carefully maintained hair. Tweek was wild and strange and so, so pretty that Craig felt inexplicably drawn to him. He wanted to open him up and see everything that hid inside, learn every detail he missed after so long. 

“Tweek? Come on in.” The counselor's voice breaks through his thoughts and the conversation and Craig nearly tells him to fuck off so they can keep talking; it's been years since he's seen Tweek, he didn't want their conversation to end now, immediately after they've started communicating again. There's still that strong pull he feels towards the blond, he's trapped helplessly in his orbit like all the small asteroids orbiting the sun. He couldn't just let him drift away again. But Tweek enters into the office before he even has the chance to pipe up, parting with a small wave that Craig returns sluggishly, the sole remaining thought being _'what the hell did he do to get a bloody nose?’_

* * *

It was a bit easier, Tweek realized, to get through the mundane routine of life, if you had fantasies to keep yourself occupied. Sometimes they were simple, far away, daydreams about escaping everything holding him in place and just running. Until he hit a point where no one knew his name, or his past, until his parents or his school didn't define him, it was a vague Somewhere Else that he was after but he treasured this nebulous somewhere because to him it was everything. There were, of course, more exotic fantasies-- sometimes he was a prince, or a knight, or a leader in total control of a group of people, fighting for revolution-- but when he lacked creativity and craved love, he could construct this perfect alternate world where things just fell into place. Where all he was surrounded by was adoration and care and security. No more stress, or late nights, or bad coping mechanisms. No one else could intrude there, no one else existed but those he allowed.

“Tweek? Do you know why you're in here?”

Reality wasn't nearly as comforting. “Because I punched someone? Because someone punched me?” He tried, wiping at his bloody nose and wincing when he was painfully reminded that yes, it was still sore, and he was an idiot.

“That's right. Now today is your first day back, right?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know the kind of precedent this sets if you get into fights your first day?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Would you like to tell me your side of things?”

No he absolutely would _not._ Honestly, his side didn't paint a very flattering image of himself, and also he didn't like airing out his grievances to any adult. Adults couldn't be trusted, he learned that years and years ago. But he _was_ a decent actor, and by extent a damn good liar, so it was pretty easy to construct a slightly tailored version of events to suit his needs. It wouldn't be the first time he lied his ass off to get out of trouble, and definitely not the first time he lied to a counselor. 

“Okay. But you have to promise not to tell.”

“... Of course.”

He took a deep breath and pulled his legs up into the chair with him, hiding behind them like a suit of armor. “I was trying to focus in class, but being back here is really stressful for me. I couldn't stop shaking, and then when I thought about how much I was shaking, it made me more nervous, and I just shook more. And the person behind me got really annoyed with it, and told me to stop, but I couldn't! I thought that he'd just leave me alone after a while, bullies sometimes get tired of me, so I tried to focus again. Then he started kicking my seat. Really hard. And when we started getting ready to leave class he shoved me and I hit the door, and it pissed me off, so I… you know the rest.” The anxious way his leg bounced was more genuine than he might have preferred; he wasn't scared of breaking rules, but being scolded always, _always_ stung.

His excuse was actually pretty close to the truth, in his defense. Only it wasn't his shaking that started it, but him clicking his teeth against his tongue ring, and it wasn't something he couldn't stop, he kept doing it out of spite. The rest was true, though, and Tweek held no remorse for throwing the first punch when that asshole behind him thought it would be funny to shove him into a door. He was only a pacifist to a certain extent, and if someone shoved him of course he was going to fight back. Who wouldn't?

“I see. Usually getting in fights would be grounds for suspension, but knowing your particular…” Don't say it. _“Issues,”_ Tweek grimaced, “I'll let this slide, mmkay? Just try not to get into any more trouble. Remember to talk about your feelings, don't fight people over them.”

If Tweek wasn't already skating on thin ice he'd have told Mackey that not every problem could be solved with words, and bullies especially didn't listen to reason. No bully ever had, no bully ever would, and the myth that all bullies needed was a good stern talking to put all the pressure on the victim instead of the aggressor. It was unfair, and Tweek hated it, and he hated him for even insinuating that he be the one to resolve things. He would just get more shit for letting people get by with nothing more than a few harsh words. He'd tried before to defend himself with words, but they fell flat quickly, it was like trying to chip away at a brick wall with a spoon. Sure, maybe eventually it would work, but it was far more likely he'd exhaust himself trying and said metaphorical brick wall would just crush him for his impudence, because _how dare he think he could topple a brick wall with nothing but a flimsy plastic spoon._ The expectation was ridiculous in theory, embarrassing in practice, and it was far, far easier for Tweek to embrace the 'freak' label he'd been assigned and use it to make people stay away. The rumors and cruel words didn't bother him anymore. That's what he told himself, anyway. Jury was still out on how true that was.

He was, however, on very thin ice, so he reverted to a habit he'd learned very early on and very, very well: shut up, stay still and smile. “I understand. I won't let it happen again. May I go back to class now?” The fake niceties left a sour taste in his mouth like bile was trying to come out instead of respect, but he swallowed it down alongside the harsh words he'd much rather say instead.

“You're free to leave. But you should go to the nurse's office first, to get cleaned up.”

Tweek said nothing in response to that. He just wanted to get out of there as soon as possible, so he scooped up his bag and hurried away, hesitating when he saw Craig still in those stiff, uncomfortable seats outside the office. He fell asleep in class or something, right? That didn't really surprise Tweek much, but the part of him that remembered their former familiarity with each other wanted to scold him for being so careless. Make sure he was getting enough sleep and that there wasn't anything major going on with him, or just distract him until he forgot about whatever was on his mind. But all Craig did was wave as he passed, so just as before Tweek bit his tongue. Shut up, stay still and smile.

That's how the rest of his day went, too, with intermittent questions he refused to answer and greetings from former classmates. There were a lot of rumors, too, about him. Some say that he'd run away, or killed himself, or was in jail, some were a bit more cruel and he tried not to dwell on them. When it came to Craig's friend group things were a little different. They all remembered him, they all seemed happy to see him alive and well, which was a relief on its own, knowing that maybe he'd have some friendly faces to turn to instead of sitting alone, watching everyone from a distance. At least they knew him as something other than the neurotic nightmare he'd accepted himself to be. But most people seemed to hardly notice he had ever left. Tweek wasn't sure whether that should make him sad or relieved, so his brain seemed to settle for a strange mix of the two. 

Craig's gang was the obvious outlier amidst the people Tweek recognized and who recognized him. It was unfair to expect everyone to remember him in some ideal way; his lasting opinion of this town as a whole had been that it sucked, the people in it sucked, and the world at large was out to get him. It was something he hadn't ever grown out of, either; this town was still a dump and the people in it never failed to disappoint. He didn't bother putting on a bright happy face for his first day back and he wasn't doing it now, either. Nothing he did would convince people he was any different than the boy who left, so he settled into the one thing he could control: what he did about it from there.

He used to think that first days were important. It always seemed like a small chance to remake himself, like all of life was just one big act and on the first day you got to choose your role again and do your best to play it. For someone that spent a long time hating himself, that fact brought him great solace, because it ensured that however bad things were, in this instance he got a do-over. A reset. People forgot people over the summer and so it was easy to dissect himself over those three months and cut out the things he didn't like, determining the cause of his social extinction and stitching himself back up after his little autopsy. 

Over time though, it became less simple. People remembered things a little better, and while he felt more stable it became more apparent with older age that something was wrong. He couldn't function as other people did, and they didn't seem to notice things in the same way as he did, with the same suspicion or caution or blatant fear. First days became a reminder of an act he could never pull off, crowds he could never work his way into, people that would never in a million years genuinely like him. The most he got was macabre fascination as though he was some complicated art piece in a gallery, or pity. God, he hated the pity, and he hated being treated like an object to be manipulated or studied. He was human, he had human wants and needs and desires, and no one else seemed to view him as anything quite so simple. He stopped caring so much out of self-preservation. No matter what he did, people remembered everything he wished he could forget, so it became an exercise in futility.

That didn't change the fact that he was still a little bitter over how quickly he managed to fuck everything up for himself.

The day passed in a hazy blur of daydreams and pessimistic thoughts. For all the drawbacks, he enjoyed school more than home, but the day could only last for so long before the final bell rang and he was left trying to find any excuse to stay later. He needed to talk to the theater director, or wanted more information on an assignment, he tried every little thing, any potential delay that could keep him. He was clever about it, but he had to run out eventually, and he did, because the hands of time didn't stay still for anyone, much less a shaky disaster of a boy that couldn't keep himself in check for one full day. Classes blurred and conversations melted into one big jumble of voices and impressions, and when he left the building finally he couldn't gather up the will to go home. His legs deposited him on the dry grass in front of the school and he stretched out across the ground, watching the wisps of clouds gathering around distant, ridged mountain tops and letting his mind take him to that comfortable Somewhere Else he adored so much.

It was oddly comforting to be out there alone. Tweek could drop his act for a while, because there wasn't anyone to put on an act for. He didn't need to be a perfect student or classmate, and the world's opinion of him didn't matter when he was stuck with only himself for company. There was nothing really shielding him from the outside world, but he felt as if he was impenetrable like this. Essentially, he was alone, and it was something he usually hated, but it was better than going home. Out here he could still pretend he was important. That he had some semblance of freedom.

God, his thoughts were bleak.

“You waiting for a ride or something?”

Tweek let out a yelp of surprise when the voice interrupted his thoughts. He nearly snapped that it's none of their goddamn business what he's doing out there and that they need to fuck off, but when he saw it was Craig the resolve to tell him off faded. Only a little though; now that he was interrupted he'd never be able to go back to that train of thought and that frustrated him to no end. Bleak or not, at least it was a train he could keep up with.

“No, just didn't feel like going home yet,” he answered after a beat, propping himself up on his elbows to see Craig a bit better, “but I don't really have a good reason to stay out either, so I'm waiting until I figure something out or give up. What about you?” 

“Same, I guess.”

“'Kay.” Craig was not usually very social, so Tweek expected that interaction to end there. Of course he wanted to catch up, but not right that minute, he was frustrated and sad and he preferred to keep himself hidden away when he got like that, carefully looking the monster in the tower until he became a man again. He had daydreams to get back to, and after he exhausted his own mind in that regard he had work to do. Apparently moving didn't mean he could escape his parents’ coffee shop, and now it was more invasive than ever, taking up the bottom floor of their house while they lived on the floor above it. That didn't help his worry about privacy at all, knowing anyone could just enter their house that way, but he still had at least two more years before he could leave. 

He didn't like thinking too much about himself, or his life. It was much better to let his mind take him far away, into some other world where he had total control, and relax there. He didn't tell anyone about this, because them knowing about those secret worlds meant they could take them away from him somehow and that wasn't a risk he wanted to run. He needed something to be his and his alone; he needed control and calm within the calamity he lived.

So he expected to be given that back, and for Craig to leave, and for the interaction to be left there. It wasn't; Craig hesitated before speaking, Tweek could see it like a thin paper wall stopping him from speaking, and he didn't blame him for being obstructed by that wall. Sometimes just being told not to do something stops all thoughts of fighting it, an actual obstruction takes a long time to ignore. But Craig pushed through it and that made Tweek a little more inclined to listen, if only to sate his own curiosity on the matter.

“I'm, uh… I'm going over to Clyde's after school, it's something we all do on the first day, a dumb little tradition.”

“Okay?”

“Do you want to come too?”

“... Why?” It felt way too much like some sort of trap. Craig was nice to him before, but he was also kind of an asshole to everyone else, and Tweek couldn't help but fear he'd be a part of that everyone else now that some years had passed between them. He was being friendly now, and so were the rest of his group, but that could always change. Tweek was justified, in his own mind at least, to be wary of Craig's intentions. 

But no mockery or blatant tricks came to light when he spoke up. Craig seemed nervous still, and Tweek remembered how bad of an actor he was. The idea of him lying fell apart when held up to logic, and some of his paranoia was assuaged by that fact. If Craig wanted to hurt him he'd just say something mean and leave, he wouldn't craft up some elaborate plot. “You've been gone for a long time and I thought it might be fun for you to catch up with everyone. If you're busy or somethi-”

“I'm not busy!” And it did sound fun. “I think that would be nice. Could we walk there together? I don't think I remember where Clyde lives,” he admitted, nervous despite the fact that anyone would have forgotten after that long. It took his mom pointing out their old house for Tweek to remember it, for god's sake, there was no way he could remember the house of a classmate he hadn't seen or visited in several years. 

“Yeah, sure, that's fine.” When Craig extends his hand, Tweek's the one hesitant to grab it. He's hesitant about all touch, but Craig is… Different. He always has been. There's something genuine about him that other people lack and Tweek, for all his boundless paranoia, couldn't talk himself out of accepting his hand, pulling himself up off that dry grass and away from his Somewhere. Right now he really was going somewhere else.


End file.
